


My Golden God

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera





	My Golden God

My golden god. That's what I call him in my most secret thoughts. I'd never say it aloud, though, afraid that he would laugh at me for being a fanciful fool. I try not to give him too much ammunition for his pisstaking. And anyway, he's vain enough as it is.

Sometimes, though, during those sleepless nights that are the bane of my existence, I amuse myself with an inventory of the things that make him the love of my life, and 'golden' is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of him. His hair, all the the shades of a wheat field in summer. Skin like burnished gold, lightly dusted with barely darker freckles. A smile that is the distilled essence of sunshine.  
  
Yeah, ok, I am a fanciful fool. I guess it comes with the territory. The long and short of it is, I'm in love. With him. Yeah, you may laugh. I'm still trying to work out where that came from, even after all these years. Trying to pinpoint that moment when I looked at him and I no longer saw my best mate. The moment when I looked at him and saw... him.

Sublime eyes the colour of storm clouds, tinged with green or blue depending on the light and his mood, becoming black as night in both love and anger. A wide and generous mouth, with perfect, well defined lips that look as though they were designed for kissing. A neck so magnificent that it belongs in Florence's Academia di Belle Arti, where it would shame its better known cousin. An expressive face, lined with laughter and pain, framed by ridiculously large, adorable jug ears, so sensitive that I can make him come just by nibbling on them.

During my bouts of introspection, I look back on all those first times that, without my notice, added up to my awakening love for him. The first time my breath caught in my throat when he laughed. The first time my knees went weak at the way his nose crinkles when he's amused or embarrassed. The first time his hands on my skin sent shivers down my spine. The first time I stared at him, tongue tied, watching his lips move and wanting to die with the need to kiss them. The first time...

Our first time.

Fear and excitement, clumsiness and delight, laughter and tears, teasing and tenderness. Bodies that were both familiar and breathtakingly new moving as one. Whispered endearments. Ecstatic cries. The silent language of our eyes in the breathless moments after. The glorious feeling of his arms around me, the feeling of home.

Yes. Home. He completes me, and sometimes I wonder what he sees in me, this man whose smile lights up my days, when he looks at me with clear eyes full of love, letting me see him without barriers or subterfuge.

Because there are two sides to him. On the surface—his public face—he is the urbane man of the world, unflinchingly polite, always ready with a smile, his languorous, insouciant manner and lazy drawl making him seem completely unflappable.

And under that unwrinkled exterior hides the man I see, capable of incredible warmth and passion, and of scathing, cold rages; loyal, whimsical, and sensitive; ambitious, driven and ruthless. An incisive mind in a flawless body. An evil tease and a wonderful lover. A man who, in unguarded moments, wears his pain and his fears in his eyes.

My golden god. My lover. The best friend a man could ever have.

 

 


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